


The Things They Don’t Tell You

by tamethewoods



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Dead Dean Winchester, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Supernatural Finale, episode 15x20
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamethewoods/pseuds/tamethewoods
Summary: “They don’t tell you how much Sam regretted not searching for another way, any way for Dean to still live as his body burned on the pyre.”ORDean died on that rod, life fading away in Sam’s arms. Sam burned his body, a proper Hunter’s goodbye, and amidst his grief, moved on. They don’t tell you the in-between, though.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Much like all of you, I’m still reeling from the Finale. I cried. So much. 
> 
> If you’ve visited my page before, you know I won’t fix the mistakes for this fic until a few days :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dean died on that rod, life fading away in Sam’s arms. Sam burned his body, a proper Hunter’s goodbye, and amidst his grief, moved on. 

What they don’t tell you was how soul-crushingly impossible it was for Sam to heave Dean’s (still warm) dead weight off the wall, ease him to the ground with shaking hands and try desperately to keep him comfortable, because he deserved nothing less, even deceased. 

They don’t tell you how Sam had to fireman-carry his dead brother back to the Impala, how he got Dean’s blood all over his hands and on his flannel, how small and cold Dean looked sprawled out on the backseat. 

They don’t tell you how Sam laid Dean’s body out on the kitchen table for hours, contemplating his next move, how his resolve couldn’t last even five minutes without seizing up, how his knees hit the cold tile defeatedly, grasping at his hair and wheezing in his next breath, how he had to take one step at a time, one foot in front of the other or he’d collapse. 

They don’t tell you how Dean’s lifeless frame lay too quiet as Sam wrapped him in white cloth with shaking hands and wet eyes, searching for twine blindly and accidentally grasping at Dean’s old flashlight instead, edges worn and chipped, how Sam hollered and thrashed and smashed into a cupboard, glass shattering out of the front and cutting through his fists, because life wasn’t fair, and it had taken everything from Sam. 

They don’t tell you how much Sam regretted not searching for another way, any way for Dean to still live as his body burned on the pyre. 

They don’t tell you how Sam laid in the bottom of his closet for days, hair ratting up and matting to the side of his head, how he couldn’t feel anything at all and his eyes were dry for days and days, and how he was worried he would never feel again, until the sobs came. 

They definitely don’t tell you about his breakdowns - horrible, wrenching howls of pain, fits of blind rage and deep sobs of anguish, how hot tears burned trails down his cheeks and scratch marks on his chest and over his heart, trying to rip it out,  _ rip the pain away- _

They don’t mention how Sam had to do this by himself, with nobody, and how the empty space next to him wherever he went felt like an open wound, and how he’d lay in bed at night and wish to death that Dean was snoring away in the shitty queen next to him in a dumpy motel, how Sam would habitually wait for Dean to introduce himself on cases and how the pause would rip open the wound in his heart again and again. 

But, they also don’t tell you how Sam found the strength to move on, how he got back into working, slowly, how he found the keys to Baby and hit the road, leaving his grief behind at the bunker, holding onto the thoughts of Dean that made him happy. 

They don’t tell you how he kept Dean in his heart, how, even on his worst days, always remembered to pat his chest in remembrance. 

And, when his son got older, they don’t tell you how Sam told story after story about Uncle Dean, about his crazy antics, his protectiveness and his moral compass, how he was named after the very man that had given his all to the world and received nothing in return. 

They don’t tell you how, when Sam finally died, his and Dean’s reunion was relief for both and long-awaited, how the space on Sam’s side was filled with the man that’d given him everything, the man he was most proud of. 

What they do tell you, and what everyone already knows, is that, even in death, where one Winchester goes, the other eventually follows. 

xxx

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They don’t tell you about the vice around his heart, how it made a home in between his lungs and buried itself in his tissues, stealing every breath he took.”

Sam scraped himself together and moved on, met his wife and had a kid whom he loved very much. It still hurt, of course, but he found solace and peace through his new family.

What they don’t tell you, though, was how Jody sobbed in his arms when he made the gut-wrenching trip to tell her, and how he spent a week on her couch after she begged him to stay, how she looked at him with watery, worried eyes, offering her spare bedroom as permanent residence, how he gently refused, disguising the sob in his throat as a cough. 

They don’t tell you how Donna cried as well when he called her in Minnesota, a wailing sort of noise that enveloped him in complete despair, and how Garth shed a reverent tear and sent condolence flowers to the bunker even though Sam had left there weeks ago. 

They don’t tell you about the vice around his heart, how it made a home in between his lungs and buried itself in his tissues, stealing every breath he took, how he felt like shit and looked even worse, how his hair came out in clumps in the shower and how his hips protruded and ribs became _painstakingly_ visible.

They definitely don’t tell you about the days and weeks Sam wanted to die, _wished_ he would have died right there alongside Dean, how he regretted not acting quicker, moving faster, how he despised Dean for not wanting Sam to bring him back, how Dean just accepted his death with a smile-

They don’t tell you about the tally board Sam had embedded into the back of his brain, every day a mark on the board, how he’d never forget the count of how many days had passed since his death, because it was genuinely part of him now, how he had run out of tears long ago but still wanted to cry, felt like he needed to cry. 

They don’t tell you how Sam smiled for the first time with his now-wife, a year and sixty-eight days after Dean’s passing, how she was supportive and patient and kind all at once, how she knew what Sam was going through and was willing to listen to the whole story, how, during Sam’s roughest days, was a rock to his battered soul. 

They don’t tell you how he purchased a house, got a stable job, how he wished more than anything he could go back to hunting instead of sitting in a cubicle, how he longed for a good monster brawl with Dean swinging at his side.

They don’t tell you how he gagged down pie at every Thanksgiving and kept Dean’s favorite sunglasses in his nightstand drawer and favorite flannel tucked away in his portion of the closet, behind everything else, how Dean’s old hunting boots sat quietly in the closet hall, collecting dust and keeping old memories safe. 

They don’t tell you about the vengeful spirit Sam tried to kill in his early 50’s, how it’d been the first hunting he’d done since Dean’s death, how it almost killed him and so much more, how he’d, even after fifteen years, waited for Dean to come around with the rock salt shotgun, how he’d paled when he realized that wasn’t going to happen and grabbed his metal flashlight from the pack when it had him by the neck, how he’d salted and burned the bones and sobbed on the moldy, wooden flooring until daybreak.

They definitely don’t tell you how Sam’s stupid, fickle mind forgot Dean’s laugh over time, how he forgot Dean’s smile and crow’s feet eyes and bowed legs until he looked at pictures, how his brain began to slip as he got older. 

They don’t tell you how Sam saw Dean in his son - strong, courageous to a fault, and so stubborn, how Sam taught him phrases like ‘poughkeepsie’ and ‘there’s something stuck to my shoe’, how, when Sam occasionally went through a harder time accepting Dean’s death, his son was right there alongside him, even on his deathbed. 

And, they definitely don’t tell you about the bitter sense of relief Sam felt when he died. 

xxx

  
  



End file.
